


The Third Time I Die

by Sheratson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brain Damage, Cancer, Divorce, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheratson/pseuds/Sheratson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In theory Sherlock Holmes knew a lot about dying, he was almost an expert. He had done it twice now after all. He knew it meant leaving people behind, people he loved, people he was supposed to protect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In theory Sherlock Holmes knew a lot about dying, he was almost an expert. He had done it twice now after all. He knew it meant leaving people behind, people he loved, people he was supposed to protect. Sherlock Homes did love, he did feel, he had simply pushed the feelings down for years feelings weren't good or helpful. Not in the way the atomic mass of Hydrogen or hand-to-hand combat was helpful. Tonight though, sitting in front of the papers. The papers he both loved for existing and hated for being in the room. "Be rational, you're still alive, but given recent events, prepare for the worst outcome," Mycroft's voice barged in his head as he looked down at the paper. Sherlock stood up and walked up the stairs to go to bed, to sleep, the doctors said he would be doing that more and more often now. For once they were right.

John Watson had his dream life, wife and soon to be daughter, beautiful home, and an amazing best friend. He didn't have nearly enough time to spend with Sherlock, but they texted everyday. That was enough right? They were both busy adults and they kept in touch, that's what people do, move on. Sherlock had he had survived just fine for two years without John, it was normal they were a bit more distant now. He loved Mary, she was beautiful and sweet, and she helped him over Sherlock's death. Suddenly he was jolted out of his stupor by a voice, "John, come to bed love, and maybe leave your mobile in the living room, Sherlock will survive one night without your texts."

Sherlock dreamt of strange things cups of tea that didn't pour themselves, a fight with John over whether the fingers could go in the cheese drawer, and Moriarty. Always him, calling him a coward and telling him John was in danger. All of a sudden the dream turned strange, the scenario he had gone over so many times in his head. Where John hadn't forgiven Mary or hadn't met her at all, and still lived in the bedroom upstairs, not six blocks away. It was selfish and stupid and he awoke quickly. He got up and looked at the clock, five hours after he had gone to sleep, a new record. Sherlock yawned and stretched sliding out of bed and heading into his bathroom. Splashing water on his face and looking at his face in the mirror. He didn't look any different, shouldn't he look different? He was dying, then again the last two times he died he didn't look different either.

John chuckled softly setting his mobile down on the counter and heading up to bed. He changed quickly into his pajamas. They were his favourtie pair, expensive wool, Sherlock had given them to him for Christmas, and the first normal gift Sherlock had ever given him. In all honesty he missed the strange gifts from Sherlock. He slid into bed with Mary leaning over to kiss her cheek softly and then her now large belly before turning back over to flip off the small desk lamp. Mary curled up to his side, resting her head onto John's shoulder and pulling his arm over herself.

"Love you John"

"Love you too"

"Night"

"Night"

John sighed softly figuring this wasn't how normal marriages worked, they hardly talked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for a dreamless night.

Sherlock grabbed his violin from the table. He was careful not to disturb the papers on the table. He was stalling, he was leaving in a few hours, and he had to bring the papers to John before that point. For now though he wanted to forget everything, he wanted to forget that he was dying, for the third time, and that he was going to die alone. He began to play a song of his own composition, swaying and moving in time to the music, almost dancing. He hung on to the last note for as long as he could listening to it as it reverberated around the empty flat. The bow stayed rested in the same place, wanting to live in that note forever, in that note was safety. Sherlock walked slowly back to his room and began packing throwing in all his clothes, his violin, and a small wooden box he hadn't opened in mouths.

"Medic tent, John twelve o'clock. JOHN!" John twitched in his sleep, his arm coming off of Mary to clench his shoulder. He sat up quickly breathing heavily his head spinning. Mary used to wake up every time John had a nightmare, she'd rub his back and speak softly, guiding him back to his pillow and calming him down. Now she didn't even stir, not because she didn't care, John rationed. She was pregnant and they weren't exactly as close as they used to be, before he came back. He slid quickly out of bed going into the bathroom to splash water on his face. The mirror reflected back at him, he looked just like himself, but something was…off.

The large suitcase zipped up easily, the entirety of Sherlock's important possession fit into the black case. Mycroft would be by in an hour to take his papers to John. John and Mary, the Watson's. He was leaving everything in John's name but it would still legally belong to both of them. Sherlock liked Mary, he truly did, and she was wonderful and funny and good for John. John needed her and Sherlock was glad he was happy, there was nothing comforting in positing new scenarios. John was John and Sherlock was Sherlock. He set the case by the door and returned to the table, signing the papers and forging Mycroft's signature as a witness. He would have agreed anyways and did he really need someone to watch him sign his own will? Now came the tricky part, he still hadn't come up with a legitimate excuse for this, and he couldn't just say "I'm going to America, for treatment, probably to die," John would only worry.

John can you meet me at the airport? SH

I know you're busy with Mary, it will be quick. SH


	2. Chapter Two

Sherlock scowled as he shook his phone angrily. John usually responded in seconds no matter the time of day, it was the only contact he got from John these days, and he wondered if he wouldn't meet him. He'd have to give the papers to Mycroft to bring to John. That would be less painful and would in theory require less lying on Sherlock's part; however, Sherlock did not trust his brother to keep his secret. He was always spouting nonsense about John having a right to know. John didn't, no one had a right to know in this other than Sherlock himself. He sighed setting his phone down on the edge of the coffee table and stood up to go have some tea. Only seconds later, he heard the buzzing that meant he had gotten a text. A smile broke across his face as he ran back to the living room snatching his mobile back up.

John crawled back into bed with Mary an hour later, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. His nose went into her hair; it still smelled of her perfume, he tried not to gag. They had talked about her changing her perfume, but it had all just ended in another fight, and John hadn't brought it up again. He huffed quietly flipping over and grabbing a through pillow to hug tightly to his chest. These were the nights he sorely missed Baker Street. He missed the song Sherlock always used to play after John had a nightmare. Somehow he had always known, or maybe it was just a coincidence. John let out a long low sigh before throwing back the covers once more and heading down stairs to grab his mobile and text Sherlock, maybe even call him. He unplugged the phone from its charger and looked through his texts, Sherlock's instantly peaking his interest. He leaned his elbows on the counter as he typed out a reply.

Of course. JW

When? JW

Sherlock collapsed back on to the couch smiling at the messages from John; he would never stop waiting for his texts. Part of him was sad that he and John hadn't had much in person contact, but another part of him was glad, it would make the transition easier for John. The most important and maybe last thing Sherlock would do in his life was to make sure this didn't hurt John.

Anytime before ten. SH

I have a plane to catch at ten-thirty. SH

John raised his eyebrows at that, where on earth could Sherlock be going? It must have been for a case, he wished he could go with, and god it would be good to get away. Get away? What was he so desperate to get away from? He knew the answer to that, but he wasn't the kind of person to admit, even to himself, that he wanted nothing more than to leave his heavily pregnant wife, to get away from the woman that loved him. His whole life was so messed up and he had no idea how to fix any of it.

I can come now. Or come to Baker Street. JW

Is this a case? JW

Sherlock groaned loudly as he read the second text; this was where it got very complicated very quickly. He could lie to John, and tell him it was a case, and then he would want to leave Mary and the baby, perfect unacceptable. He could tell the truth and John would probably still feel the need to come out of requirement or duty or something. He decided in the end to keep his answers vague for now, responding only to John's first question before pushing off the couch and digging in the drawer for a nicotine patch or three.

Airport is fine. I'm headed there now myself. SH

John frowned a bit at that; there was the fact that Sherlock hadn't answered his question and the fact that he seemed very cold and distant, even for Sherlock. He just had this feeling something really terrible was happening and Sherlock wasn't telling him about it. He walked slowly up the stairs and shook Mary awake gently; it was just barely seven in the morning. She blinked up at him sitting up as quickly as she could in bed. "What's wrong love?" she asked softly reaching up to touch the side of his face softly. John bit his lower lip softly before speaking; "Sherlock wants me to meet him at the airport. I don't exactly what's going on or if I'm going with, but I'm going to pack a bag regardless," John said softly kissing her cheek before going over to the closet and pulling out his suitcase quickly throwing things into the black rubber case.

Mary Watson loved her husband very much, and she had accepted a long time ago that Sherlock was first in John's mind. She may have been first during those years when Sherlock was dead, but even then it was questionable. She knew she should be objecting to the idea of her husband leaving her when she was eight months pregnant, but after everything she had done to John, to Sherlock. She just could not make the words come out. She merely nodded her head softly, her arms wrapping gently around her stomach as she felt the baby kick.

Sherlock Holmes sat in the airport coffee shop, his overlarge suitcase in one hand and a stack of old cold cases in one arm for the flight over, best use his brain while he still had the chance. He figured he should text John as to where he was within the massive airport; his fingers flew quickly over the keys as he typed out the location.

Main Coffee Shop by baggage claim one. SH

Right. I'm five minutes away from the airport now. JW

And Sherlock, don't think you're not telling me where you are going and what's going on. JW

"Damn," Sherlock cursed under his breath, John knew him far too well.


End file.
